


Signs of Change

by owl_coffee



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sign of Four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:45:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson's impending marriage is about to change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the end of the story Sign of Four, but from Holmes' perspective.

"Well, and there is the end of our little drama," Watson remarked, after they had sat some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods." Holmes raised an eyebrow in question, though he already knew and dreaded what was coming. "Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as her husband in prospective."  
Holmes couldn't prevent himself from groaning aloud. Heaven knew what Watson must have thought of him. Holmes tried to school his expression. Pass it off as another eccentricity. "I feared as much," he replied. "I really cannot congratulate you." Holmes tried to say it in a jolly tone, make the whole thing a joke, but he had never been good at such things and it fell rather flat.  
Watson looked hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" he asked.  
"Not at all." _Except that it is not me._ Holmes searched for some compliments for his friend's fiancee, to smooth away that wounded look. "I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I have ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way; witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father." Now, how to justify his behaviour, his outburst? "But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry, myself, lest I bias my judgement."  
It worked - Watson was already smiling. Why should he disbelieve? Holmes had always appeared cold and unfeeling to him, to everyone. If he knew how different the truth was, how much Holmes cared - but that way lay madness.  
"I trust," laughed Watson, "that my judgement may survive the ordeal. But you look weary."  
"Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week." Cocaine would take his mind off Watson. Or perhaps morphine. Holmes' skin already itched for the familiar kiss of the needle.  
"Strange," his friend mused, "how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour."  
"Yes, there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer, and also a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe - " And here he indulged himself, knowing that Watson did not speak any German, feeling the need to somehow release his feelings. " _I hate her - why should she have you? I care for you better than she ever could._ "  
They both sat in companionable silence a little while, thinking their own separate thoughts. Holmes realised how very much he would miss Watson when he was in the clutches of Miss Morstan. How empty the house would seem. Perhaps he should take another flatmate? No. Holmes had money enough now to spend on whims - he would rent both sets of rooms, and keep Watson's just as they were. In case he ever wanted to come back. 

With an effort Holmes spoke again, trying to turn the subject to something neutral, something easy. "By the way, apropos of the this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of having caught one fish in his great haul." It amused him that Jones had been so zealous about arresting and questioning all of the house servants, despite the clear evidence that they had nothing to do with it.  
"The division seems rather unfair," Watson remarked. "You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit; pray what remains for you?"  
The truth of it cut Holmes to the quick. He did have nothing.  
Well, not quite. "For me, there still remains the cocaine-bottle." And Holmes stretched his hand up for it.

_Sign of Four canon ends here_

Watson's hand grasped his wrist and interrupted him half-way to his goal.  
"What is it?" Holmes snapped irritably, "More of your unease about my habits? Well, you won't have to live with them for much longer, at least."  
"My dear fellow - "  
"Oh, leave me alone!" Holmes turned away and clutched his head, trying to control himself. "No, I'm sorry - I just - you know how I get at the end of a case. I just need to be alone a while." Holmes stood and headed for his room. Once safely inside, with the door locked and the curtains drawn, he began to weep, silently. Like a child, like a snivelling baby. Crying after something he couldn't have. Fortunately, he kept the morphine in his room. So he dosed himself until the tears stopped, and everything ceased to matter.

Someone was battering on the door, and had been for some time. Holmes stirred in the thin shaft of light cast by the gap in his curtains, and for a moment forgot where he was, what had happened. Then he woke fully, and felt sick. "What is it?" he shouted, eventually.  
"It's me, Holmes, let me in. You haven't been out of here for two days! This isn't healthy." Watson's voice.  
"Two days? I thought it was only a little while..." Time passed strangely, with morphine. Perhaps he had taken something else, when he came down the first time? He felt as if he had been dreaming but five minutes, maybe. It shook him. Without his brain, what was he? It was the only thing anyone valued him for. It was the only thing John cared about. And here he was, damaging it in a fit of pique. What a self-destructive fool.  
Then, because he could analyse himself but not stir himself to change, Holmes took another dose, and drifted a while longer. He was vaguely aware that the battering at the door had ceased. Good. Maybe Watson had tired himself out, gone down to breakfast. The thought of food made Holmes' stomach turn, though he was a little thirsty. That would involve opening the door though, which would involve too much effort, exposure to the world...  
Maybe Watson was breakfasting with Miss Morstan.

Holmes blinked rheumy eyes as the door opened, seemingly of its own accord. He looked down and there was one of the little boys, his Baker Street irregulars. Wiggins, the expert at lock-picking, among other things.  
"Thank you, Wiggins, you may go. Have Mrs Hudson give you some hot gingerbread on your way out, it's a cold day today." Watson stood and stared at Holmes as the boy scampered away. "What have you done to yourself this time?" His tone was that of exasperated affection.  
Holmes found his voice was hoarse when he tried to speak. "Nothing. It's nothing, why did you bring in Wiggins? I'm all right, I'm just fine."  
"You are clearly not just fine, you're within a day of nervous collapse, possibly heart failure. You must eat something. And stop taking the damned morphine." Watson smiled wryly, "And I brought in Wiggins to pick the lock because I couldn't manage it myself, and I couldn't break the damned door down."  
"I know. It's a good lock, I'm impressed he brought it off in so short a time. He's one to watch. But really, I'm all right. There was no need."  
"Come on, Holmes. Stop this! At least eat some lunch, I brought you a plate."  
The thought turned his stomach. "I can't."  
Watson sat down on the bed and showed him the plate. "Don't be foolish. I know about food for invalids, and those silly enough to make themselves into them. I had Mrs Hudson make some beef tea, and here's plain bread and cheese. Just eat a little, there's a good fellow. I won't go away until you do."  
"Were you born to make my life a torment, or is it your special vocation?" But Holmes ate the bread, dutifully, and felt a mite better for it. "What shall I do with myself when you're gone?" he sighed aloud. Mostly talking to himself, but Watson answered.  
"Not this, I hope. You need to take better care of yourself." The old refrain. "Anyhow, you act as if we'll never see each other again once I marry. That's hardly true."  
"Is it? You say that now, but once you're in her power you won't want to go back to our old ways. I know how it will be. I've seen it before."  
Watson looked suddenly fierce. "Do you think so little of me? That I will abandon my chiefest friend in the world? Others may do so, but I will not! I swear, if you ever need me I'll be here, no matter what else."  
"Do you truly mean that?" Holmes began to feel almost human again.  
"Of course. You have my word." As if to seal the bargain, a rough kiss was deposited on his forehead. Holmes blinked at the touch, sudden and unexpectedly lovely.  
Watson moved briskly to the door. "Now come along, dear fellow - you can't stay in bed all day. Lestrade says there's a new case waiting for us."


End file.
